


this time it's for real

by ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Different jobs, Dialogue Heavy, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marriage Promises, Ryan Bergara is an idiot, Ryan's a trainer, Shane Madej is an idiot, boys bein boys, but also a photographer / cat sitter, kids bein kids, marriage pact, marrying each other and what not, maybe a lil angst, mentions of hallmark movies, shane's a mess, slow burn - ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: On the morning of Ryan’s thirtieth birthday, he is standing on Shane’s welcome mat and his hand is poised to knock and he isn’t sure if this was exactly how this is supposed to go. Or if it is supposed to go at all.or, shane and ryan promise to get married when they're thirty if marriage doesn't work out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had this idea and i need - i NEED - to write this before i drive myself insane. 
> 
> i'm terrible at tenses so forgive me if present tense turns into past. i'm getting the hang of things. 
> 
> also: not sure how many chapters this will be yet, but i'll let you know asap

On the morning of Ryan’s thirtieth birthday, he is standing on Shane’s welcome mat and his hand is poised to knock and he isn’t sure if this was exactly how this is supposed to go. Or if it is supposed to go at all.

-

It had been twenty years since they’d made their little deal and shaken each other’s little hand in the comfort of Shane’s childhood bunk bed. Shane was four years Ryan’s senior, a fifteen-year-old telephone pole in a wrinkled lavender polo shirt, towering over the little Ryan, who had just discovered his affinity for mesh-lined sports shorts and had begged his mother to sign him up for the fall junior basketball season in the elementary school gym that Sunday. Some garbage Hallmark movie was drawling on in the background as Ryan tossed a rubber ball against the wall from his place on the floor. He caught it in between his palms.

“This is dumb,” Ryan said, his hair an unbrushed, tangled nest on top of his head. His eyes moved between Shane and the screen to make sure the tall boy agreed with him.

“Hm,” Shane said, tilting his head at the pictures that hummed and jittered. Shane was getting a new TV for his fifteenth, he had promised Ryan. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, right, totally,” Ryan rushed to agree.

Shane had just started ninth grade and had begun the poetry unit in English class. He’d started to _truly understand the nature of love_ , or something like that. Ryan wasn’t sure. He still wasn’t too sure girls weren’t carrying a contagious disease – but he’d never tell Shane that. Because Shane would probably laugh at him.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Shane said, focusing his still hands on the near impossible task of balancing the remote on his gargantuan forehead. His eyes were crossed as he tried to get it _just perfect_. Ryan watched him, holding his head in his hands, elbows resting on the inside of his knees. “Sometimes, adults aren’t sure if they’re gonna get a husband or wife. So, it’s a good way to skip that step.”

“What… what if they move?” Ryan asked, scooting away far enough so that Shane could lay down. The crown of his head just barely pressed against his ankle. He looked down at Shane, whose tongue was peeking out of his lips in genuine concentration. “What if when they grow up, they won’t know each other and won’t wanna get married?”

“They will,” Shane said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He let the remote tumble down his nose to rest on his sternum. He placed his hands on his stomach and tilted his head up to look at Ryan. “They promised.”

“What if they meet and they don’t want to get married?”

Shane shrugged, “That would be weird.”

“Mhmm,” Ryan bit his thumbnail, anxious about the hypothetical situation they’d posed. Shane gave him a look and dragged his hand away from his mouth.

Shane rolled over onto his stomach. “Would you ever do that?”

Ryan shook his head, “I don’t want to get married.”

“Even if you’re, like, 30?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. “My history teacher said that if someone gets to 30 and is still single, they’re never going to get married.”

Ryan winced, “Well, I don’t wanna be _alone_.”

“You won’t be alone,” Shane offered, looking up through his eyelashes. “I’ll still be your friend. Even if you’re thirty.”

“So will I,” Ryan said. He looked up at the wooden planks that held the mattress up. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t quite figure out how he was going to structure his thoughts.

Shane sighed and went to stuff his face into the comforter. Out of sheer boredom.

“So, why don’t we…” Ryan finally said.

Shane stopped and propped himself up on his elbows, “What?”

“Let’s just…” He gestured with his hands. “Do the thing.”

“Oh,” Shane said. He sat up properly, “But you don’t _want_ to get married. You’re definitely not going to want to get married to _me_ , Ryan.”

Ryan shrugged, his face on fire. “You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t mind.”

Shane seemed to look Ryan over for a moment. “You’re… like, a _baby_.”

Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, “Am not.”

“Are too,” Shane said, smoothing out the blankets, “You look the same as you did when you were five.”

“Uh? No, I don’t.” Ryan rolled off the bed and onto the floor, looking at himself in the mirror. He blinked. Well, maybe he did. Just a little bit. “Well… I’ll look different when I’m 30.”

Shane kept looking at Ryan like _that._ His mouth wasn’t quite smiling, but it wasn’t quite a blank stare, and Ryan wasn’t sure if he was supposed to understand.

“Eh,” Shane held his hand out. Ryan moved hesitantly, trying to shake his hand, but grunted as Shane pulled him all the way back onto the bed. Only then did he shake his hand. “When _you’re_ thirty, we can get married.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. His cheeks were positively _burning_. He waited a little too long to let go. “When I’m thirty.”

-

Shane’s door is tall and reddish brown. The mat is smooth beneath his sneakers.

Maybe, just maybe, this is a step too far. Maybe going behind Shane’s back, contacting his mother, getting his address after 12 years without seeing him, without talking, is a lot.

Twelve years is a long time. He had moved away to go to college at Chapman, while Shane stayed behind and created his own path through online courses – because, after all, it is the future – and hundreds of daily texts were whittled down over time to the occasional “hey,” or “goodnight,” and then even those disappeared.

But now, he is thirty.

He has spent his first hours as a thirty-year-old man tracking a childhood friend down to an old house an hour out from his childhood home. And now he is here, and if he gets back into his car and drove back to his own house, he will beat himself up for it. For years to come.

That would be a cowardly move.

 

 

And Ryan is a complete coward.

 

 

He stoops down and places the scrap piece of paper under a corner of the mat – he’d grabbed it in the car, just in case he was going to do exactly what he is doing now: chickening out. His ten-year-old self was much braver than he is now. Ryan doesn’t have the time or energy to think about that for long.

Ryan stumbles on his feet, trying to push himself up and dive into his car before he can think twice, but then there are two bare feet in front of him, the squeak of an ancient door opening, and there’s a very unfamiliar voice saying –

“Uh, hey, man, you okay?”

Ryan looks up. And he finds _those eyes_ , warm and brown and incredibly concerned for the man kneeling on his porch. “Holy shit.”

“Are you…” Shane – Adult Shane, what is he, thirty-four now? – looks down at him, his hair just as messy as Ryan remembers. “Dude, are you alright? Do you need… like, water?”

Ryan’s mouth is dry. He grasps the paper back, a little too tightly, standing up – holy _shit_ , is Shane tall – looking between the eyes above him like he’s never seen eyes before.

“What…” Shane glances down at the paper in Ryan’s hand, “Is that… for me?”

Ryan nods. He holds it out, crumpled and warm, splaying his fingers robotically and letting the paper fall into Shane’s palm. Shane stares at it, eyes flickering between his palm and the wide-eyed man, before carefully unfolding it.

Ryan watches as Shane’s shoulders tense with understanding.

 

 _Ryan Bergara,_ the paper reads, a number scrawled up the jagged edge.

_Give me a call. Or something._

Shane folds the paper in half, tucking it into his shirt pocket. The fabric looks soft under Ryan’s gaze. He raises his eyes to meet Shane’s, who is openly staring down at him like he’s an alien or something. He feels like one.

“Ryan,” Shane says, feeling the name out again. Tasting it. “Huh. Ryan Bergara, on my porch. It must be Christmas.”

“Not yet. It’s just my birthday.”

Shane blinks. He sweeps a long arm into his house, stepping back, granting entry. “Come on in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so ridiculous i wish real life was like this... all unapologetically happy and stuff
> 
> more to come !!!!

“So,” Shane’s saying, carrying a cup of coffee in both hands because he’s definitely not awake enough to contemplate exactly what’s going on. He must have woken up seconds before he’d opened the door. His voice is beginning to warm up, brushing the rasp away. “How’s your birthday, so far?”

Ryan can’t help but laugh. He feels the nervous energy bubble up his throat, and he coughs out a laugh. Ryan’s fingers rest over his lips as he answers, his voice muffled, “Great. How is it... for you?”

“Uh… the same,” Shane settles on the couch next to Ryan. He figures that’s a safe bet, considering Ryan is basically proposing to him. That they get married. _Fuck._ “How’d you, um. Find me?”

“Called your mom,” Ryan says, a little less dryly after gulping down two bottles of water that Shane had offered upon entering. “Sorry, about that. I just didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Shane’s tilting his head and Ryan feels like he’s ten again.  

“I don’t know how to do this, man,” Ryan says in a long exhale. “I don’t know… like, am I supposed to court you? Was I supposed to send an email? Formal or unformal?”

“I’m a formal lady,” Shane mumbled into his mug, probably too sleepy to really think about his words. Ryan laughs, surprised. It’s a new kind of humor from a new voice, but it’s all… _so_ Shane. “What can I say?”

Ryan sits in the silence for a moment. He has a million questions, bouncing around his skull, forming a headache behind his eyes. The clash of Now and Then are slightly too much, but it’s warm. And he forgives it. And focuses on Shane entirely.

“What do you do?” Shane asks, breaking Ryan out of his dead-stare.

“I… am a personal trainer,” Ryan replies quietly.

Shane snorts. “Of the stars?”

“Nah, just… normal ol’ joes,” Ryan says, rubbing his temple with his fingertips.

“Nice,” Shane says, this welcome smirk on his face, like he’s just as happy to see Ryan as Ryan is to see Shane. “That would explain the muscles.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. Shane just _smiles_. He’s all _smiles_.

“What do _you_ do?” Ryan asks, and Shane’s grin falls. Just slightly. The tall man rubs the back of his neck and sucks a breath in between his teeth. “… You do _something_ , right?”

“Yeah, I, uh…” Shane chuckles, low in his throat, like he’s got something _kinda awkward to say_. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. That’s not that bad. “Well, what are you doing, now?”

“I take… um…” Shane runs a hand through his hair, catching on the tangled knots. “Photographs. For local businesses. And for fun, but mostly by commission.”

“That’s cute,” Ryan says without thinking. Shane doesn’t seem to react to it negatively.

“And I…” Shane mumbles something.

“What’s that?”

“I…” Mumbles, again.

“Shane, you’re gonna need to speak up.”

“I watch cats.” Shane rushes out. He brings his mug to his lips and laughs, high-pitched and embarrassed, inside.

Ryan clasps his hands over his mouth. “Shane,” he says, feigning disappointment.

“Shut up,” Shane says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re not only a formal lady,” Ryan says, his voice wobbling as he tries to keep from laughing too hard, “But a formal _cat_ lady.”

“You know me,” Shane says.

Ryan doesn’t. Not really, not anymore. Shane’s sitting cross-legged, holding his mug in the basket of his legs, unlike his old habit of sitting “proper,” sitting “cool.” He wears a t-shirt with some obscure band stretched across the chest and bright pink boxers – both fashion choices young Shane would have loathed. And his eyes are so… _hopeful_. And just as welcoming as they had been all those years ago.

“Do I?” Ryan decides to say.

“I don’t know,” Shane replies. He raises his eyebrows, pausing, before he continues: “You’re gonna have to, though. Since we’re gonna get married.”

Ryan nods. He suddenly feels very far away from Shane and realizes that he doesn’t like that at all. “I guess I will.”

“What are we gonna do about that, by the way?” Shane reaches down and places his empty mug on the table with a clatter. “Getting married. How’s that work?”

Ryan shrugs, “I dunno. I didn’t really think about that part too much before I got here.”

“You’re the one who proposed,” Shane says, smiling.

Ryan nods, “I guess the first thing we need to do, then, is… uh. Get rings.”

“Oh, right,” Shane unfolds his legs, letting his feet hit the ground. Ryan stares at his upper thigh for no particular reason. Mostly because he can. “Well, do you wanna do that now?”

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Ryan glances down to Shane’s lap, “You do need to put pants on, though.”

“Why?” Shane stands, moving to intrude on Ryan’s personal space, “You’re gonna have to get used to this. When we’re married.”

“Don’t make me… un-propose,” Ryan pushes his palms against Shane’s stomach, nudging him away, groaning. He feels like a kid again.

“You can’t,” Shane says, and there’s something just behind his eyes. Ryan’s hands stop pushing and just… rest on Shane’s hips. Ryan knows this _should be_ inappropriate – it should be a lot of things. But Shane just looks down at him, places his mug-warmed hands on top of Ryan’s, and says, “You promised.”

Ryan nods, letting Shane pull him to his feet, “I did.”

-

Shane was perched on Ryan’s bed, staring intently at the sports posters Ryan has put up since he’d been last. An awful lot of Kobe Bryant. An awful, awful lot of Kobe Bryant.

 When Ryan returned with a box of cheese pizza, Shane shuffled to the back of the bed, pressing his back against the wall as his friend settled beside him. Their legs brushed as Ryan grabbed the remote from the nightstand.

“Mom’s gotta go to work later,” Ryan said. Shane was only half listening, shoving an entire slice into his mouth. He swallowed it without chewing, but Ryan didn’t seem to notice. He was used to that sort of thing. “So once she leaves, Jake has to hang out with us.”

“That’s alright,” Shane said, and he meant it. “He’s a cool little guy.”

“I thought _I_ was the little guy,” Ryan said, indignant.”

“You are,” Shane said quietly.

It had been roughly three years since they’d made The Pact, and Ryan had mentioned it twice. Once, a year after, and another time, two years after. It was a passing mention, a simple _hey, remember?_ and then he’d unmute the TV, and they’d settle back into their odd best-friend cuddles.

But things were changing. Shane was coming up on his eighteenth birthday, and he had some decisions to make. Some life decisions to make. And The Pact was making everything harder.

 If he left home, it would be more difficult for he and Ryan to keep in touch. He made a promise, and he was damn sure going to keep it.

“What are you thinking about?” Ryan was in his face, nearly on his lap, eyes so close Shane’s had to cross to see him.

“Nothing,” Shane said. It was quite literally the opposite.

-

“What kind of band are you gonna get?” Ryan is bouncing up and down on his toes while Shane circles the mall kiosk.

“Not a band,” Shane says before he circles back around with a rose gold diamond ring, “This puppy.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ryan squints at it up close, “It’s gorgeous.”

“Why thank you,” Shane curtsies and Ryan feels his heart rate increase. This, what they’re doing, is so incredibly dumb. But they’re thirty, now, they can be dumb – and they can be dumb together. “What about you? What’s your soul ring?”

“Thinking about that Lakers ring,” Ryan says, pointing to the black band with the logo carved into it.

“That’s definitely your soul in a ring,” Shane nods. “As is mine.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“ _You_ married me.”

Ryan is struck with the realization, again, that he and Shane are going to be married.

 

 

What this means… Ryan doesn’t know.

 

 

But he sees Shane place his pink ring and Ryan’s sports ring on the small counter, reaching into his pocket. And he thinks about how quickly they’ve gotten back into their old comfort zones. Like fifteen years hadn’t wedged between them and they’d just been living next to each other the entire time, close enough to reach out to if they needed to.

Shane returns to him, kneeling in the middle of the mall and holding the black ring up to Ryan. He just smirks up at him while Ryan tries to regain control of his mouth.

He holds his hand out. Shane slips the ring onto his finger.

“How much did these even cost?” Ryan laughs as Shane pushes himself to stand.

“Together?” Shane asks, admiring the way the fake diamonds compliment his hand before looking to Ryan, “Twenty bucks.”

Ryan covers his mouth with his hand and breaks into a laughing fit. Shane joins him immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

Time has gotten away from the two of them.

After leaving the mall kiosk, Shane had dragged Ryan to a (really seedy) Waffle House to grab a bite. Ryan was unsure about carbs – _Shane, man, I’ve got a reputation to uphold –_ to which Shane had begged him with his eyes like he did when he was a kid, and almost immediately, they were inside.

Shane had gotten a heaping plate of hashbrowns and another cup of coffee, while Ryan was staring down at the biggest waffle he’d ever seen with a glass of water. They sat and talked for hours about nearly nothing – just names of streets and inside jokes they’ve always wanted to have – before hassling over the check.

Shane pulled his wallet out, bursting at the seams with ones and twenties in cash, while Ryan fumbled with his credit card. Ultimately, Shane swiped the younger man’s card from the table and stuck it in his pocket when the waitress came around. Ryan had just scowled, unable to find it in his heart to turn down a free meal.

“How do you stay so thin?” Ryan has asked as they walked to Shane’s car. “Do you eat like that _all_ the time?”

Shane shrugged, “I don’t know. Metabolism, or something. Right?”

Ryan was at a loss for words, “It’s tragic, how little you know about your own body.”

“Well…” Shane had started, but he never finished his sentence.

And suddenly, it’s sundown.

They pull into the driveway. Shane’s house looks bigger in the dark, a yellowed light filtering through the uppermost window, and Ryan realizes that they have completely forgotten to get married.

“Huh,” Shane says, pulling his keys from his pocket as they stumble over the gravel. “The one thing you came to do, and we forget.”

“I mean…” Ryan stands a bit too close to Shane as the door is unlocked. “I’m not going anywhere, after this. I’m not… like, on the clock. For marriage.”

Shane pauses before pushing the door in with his knuckles, nodding like _I guess that makes sense,_ “I don’t think we thought this through very well.”

“We didn’t,” Ryan agrees, but steps into the dark house anyway. He feels Shane’s hand on his lower back. “So… we’ve gotta talk about some stuff.”

-

Ryan shoved the cupcake in Shane’s face, nearly scorching the tall boy’s eyebrows off.

“Eighteen!” Ryan shrieked.

“Yeah!” Shane said groggily, rubbing his eyes and trying to ward off the blur of sleep. “It’s midnight, Ryan, why are you here?”

“To celebrate your birthday, dummy,” Ryan said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Happy birthday. You’re eighteen.”

“I am,” Shane said, stepping outside in his boxers and thin t-shirt. The hairs on his arms stood up as he closed the door, “But _you_ are thirteen-going-on-fourteen, and you’re not supposed to be out and about at this time.”

Ryan squinted at him, “Oh, so since you’re an adult now, you’re gonna treat me like a baby?”

“I’ve treated you like a baby for years, Ry.” Shane held his hands out and took the cupcake from a pouting Ryan with a tired smirk, “Not gonna stop now.”

“Just blow the candle out, stupid,” Ryan said, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s cold out here.”

“Aren’t ya gonna sing to me?” Shane asked, leaning against the cold glass door. The flame was getting dangerously close to the wax.

Ryan took a long breath through his nose, “…No, just blow the candle out.”

“Oh, you’re too old for celebrations, now?” Shane raised his eyebrow, “Mister Teenager thinks he’s too good for a little music in his life?”

“Shaneeee,” Ryan whined, reaching to swipe the cupcake from his hands, “Nevermind, I’ve changed my mind, and I hope your birthday sucks.”

Shane rolled his eyes and plucked the candle from the treat before it could taint the icing, holding it out to Ryan, “ _You_ make a wish, then.”

Ryan blinked, “That’s not how birthdays work.”

“I’m adult now,” Shane said, his arm extended as far as it could go. Ryan panicked, worried the wax would drip onto his friend’s fingers, and quickly blew out the flame. “What’d you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you,” Ryan said.

“Fair,” Shane said. He looked back at the house, “Do you wanna come in?”

“Sure,” Ryan shrugged casually. Suspiciously.

“You can spend the night,” Shane offered, turning his back to open the doors, “If that’s fine with your mom.”

“Yeah, I left a note,” Ryan said. Shane turned back to find Ryan gathering his backpack from behind one of the bushes in front of the porch. Shane gave him a look. “What? I figured you’d let me stay over.”

“You know me too well, then,” Shane said.

As soon as Ryan closed the door, Shane smushed the cupcake into Ryan’s face. Ryan was too shocked to laugh while Shane was on the floor in tears. Shane’s mother yelled to tell them to be quiet, but Shane just laid on his back and closed his mouth to hold in the funny noises he was making.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Ryan said as a glob of icing fell from his nose and splatted onto the hardwood floor.

Shane lost his shit for a second time, and eventually, Ryan fell beside him and joined him.

-

After giving a surface level tour of the house, Shane finds himself standing in front of Ryan in his bedroom, staring at the large suitcase in Ryan’s hand.

All of the questions he’d forgotten are right in the front of his brain in seconds and he picks one at random, one of the most important ones, to ask.

“Is this going to be… uh, real?”

Ryan sets his bag down, heavy and loud. “What?”

“I mean,” Shane looks him over, trying to figure out where his head has gone. “Like, being married.”

“…Yeah, I think so.” Ryan sinks onto the mattress and hums appreciatively, “Nice mattress.”

“Memory foam,” Shane belly flops onto the bed, propping his head up on his hands as he looks at Ryan, “So. Are we gonna… like… _kiss_ each other and stuff?”

“Ew, no,” Ryan says. It’s almost a reflex. Shane raises his eyebrows at the strong reaction, “You’re… like… no offense. Just…”

“I guess it’s pretty fair,” Shane replies, “So, just friends with legal bonds to each other.”

“Yeah, that seems good,” Ryan nods. He looks toward the window. “Can I stay in here, too?”

“Sure, man,” the tall man shrugs, rolling onto his back. “It’s been lonely here. It’ll be good. Like… a sleepover forever.”

“Right.”

Ryan lays down opposite Shane, his head by Shane’s stomach, his legs hanging off the side of the bed.

“I can stay with you?” Ryan asks, just to make sure. Like Shane doesn’t seem completely fine with everything – which he does. And he knows he needs to ask just _why_ he’s so okay with everything. But he can’t. Because Shane reaches his hand out and pats his forearm.

“Of course you can, Ry,” he says. “For as long as you want.”

Ryan musters up the courage to say, “Forever,” and Shane squeezes his arm, almost like an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao as soon as i wrote that "are we gonna kiss" line...
> 
>  
> 
> i knew they were gonna totally kiss. 
> 
> thanks for reading! more to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason, i’ve decided that shane and ryan grew up in san francisco. no idea why. but i like it and it makes for some good drama
> 
> thank you for reading!

Shane wakes up with Ryan tucked under his arm and has a few select thoughts through the blur of newly obtained consciousness.

 

One, he wonders what Ryan will do for a living now that he’s (possibly) going to stay with Shane.

Two, he wonders what cologne Ryan uses and for how long he’s used it and if he’s brought some with him.

Three, he wonders if this marriage thing is a good idea.

 

And, no, he decides, it is not. But he’s going to do it anyway. He is going to, on a whim and a 20-year promise, dive into this shallow decision with all he can. Until, that is, Ryan decides not to.

At the same time, Ryan stirs, his shirt stiff and rough against Shane’s palm as he shifts, groaning as he realizes that _now, I have to open my eyes_ and _I have to go back to the world now._ But then he feels the hand on his shoulder and remembers where he is, feels his socks on his feet (because it felt too awkward to take them off in front of Shane), and relaxes immediately.

“We gonna do it today?” Ryan slurs, rubbing his eyes with his palms, his hair tickling Shane’s chin.

“I don’t have a suit,” Shane replies groggily.

“We don’t need to get suits, Shane,” Ryan pushes himself up with a groan. He looks at Shane, disgruntled from sleep, his chin to his chest as he watches Ryan. “Let’s just… go do it.”

“I’m gonna dress up for our wedding, Ryan.”

“It’s not gonna be a _ceremony_ ,” Ryan rolls over and places his feet on the floor, looking over his shoulder, “Right?”

“I don’t know,” Shane leans his cheek on his palm as he watches Ryan shed his shirt on the way to the bathroom. “I was thinking about inviting my mom. My dad. My brother. My… uh, fourth grade teacher, Ms. Long -”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan closes the door behind him.

“I will not.”

 

A beat.

 

The rattle of the shower curtain parting, the squeak of the handle, the rumble of the pipes in the walls. The splash of water against porcelain.

 

And then it stops.

 

The door opens, and Ryan peeks his head out, “Are you really going to invite _people_?”

“Nah,” Shane says with a small smile. He glances at Ryan’s bare shoulder, “It’s not a real wedding, right?”

Ryan nods and taps his fingers against the wooden frame, a beat to a rhythm only slightly faster than that of his heart, as he says, “Totally.”

Shane grabs his phone as the bathroom door closes again. And he sets it on his stomach as it opens again.

“What about Tom?” Ryan rests his cheek on the side of the door, cold on his skin. “Weren’t you guys close?”

“I guess, in middle school?” Shane looks at Ryan with an eyebrow cocked, like he’s not sure where this is going. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” Ryan says casually, though his voice wavers as he continues, “Just… figured at least _someone’s_ still here.”

“ _I’m_ still here,” Shane says.

“Yeah, but where’s everyone else?” Ryan squints at him, “They all moved?”

Shane scoffs, not sure why Ryan is so focused on this. “No one stays in their hometown, Ryan.”

“You did.”

The air grows heavy and Shane clears his throat.

“I sure did.”

-

Shane, 23 years old, sat at his laptop, clunky and slow, looking up at Ryan with his fingers frozen on the keys. A feeling of dread was creeping up his back, his spine suddenly a taut string pulled tighter every time Ryan spoke.

“…So,” he began, his throat dry. He reached for his water bottle. “Chapman, then?”

“Yeah!” Ryan, 18 years old, leaned on Shane’s desks, his cheeks sharp with stubble and his eyes wide. “They accepted my application. Soooo, yeah. I’m moving out there next month.”

“Chapman’s in… Orange County,” Shane said, as if Ryan didn’t know, the bottle poised at his lips. He took a long gulp as Ryan stared at him, amazed.

“Uh… _Duh_.” Ryan chuckled, “I thought you finished college, you’re supposed to be smart by now.”

“That’s, like… _hours_ away,” Shane said, ignoring Ryan’s statement.

“It is,” Ryan replied, his arms that were crossed over his chest going slack as he began to realize that Shane wasn’t going to drop this. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I thought San Fran Uni accepted you,” Shane closed the computer and pushed it away until it bumped against the wall. “But you wanna go somewhere… what, eight hours away?”

“Chapman… has the BFA program I want, Shane, you know that,” his smile was fading quicker and quicker with every second. “You can’t expect me to go somewhere close because _you_ want me to.”

“Of course, I don’t expect you to do that,” Shane said, jaw tight.

“Just because you stayed, doesn’t mean I have to.”

The chills that ran up Shane’s arms stung.

 _I stayed for you,_ he almost said. Like that would make a difference.

Shane must have been zoning out on Ryan’s face, tears brimming, because Ryan cleared his throat.

“Aren’t you happy for me?”

Shane sighed, sliding his glasses down his nose. He placed them on the desk with a clatter, holding his arm out to Ryan, who hesitantly stepped closer. Shane pulled Ryan into his lap, hugging his waist, sighing into his hair. “Of _course_ I am, Ry. I know they’ve got the program you want, and you’re gonna be a big-shot TV guy, I’m just… just gonna miss you.”

Ryan’s shoulders went lax, gripping Shane back as hard as he could. He always hated fighting with Shane. “You could always visit.”

“I don’t know,” Shane said with a weak smile. “Would it be worth it?”

“It’d have to be,” Ryan chuckled, punching his shoulder. “I’ll be down there. That’ll be worth it.”

“Just gotta find the time,” Shane said, punching him back. “Don’t have much, nowadays.”

-

Ryan and Shane look at each other in front of the building. Shane in his white dress shirt and blue jeans, Ryan in his t-shirt and black pants, just looking at each other in the California sun, their license and registration in hand. They’re waiting for the other to call _uncle_ , waiting for the sign that Ryan can go back to his apartment and beg his roommates to let him back in, and Shane can go back to his empty house and print more cat-sitting posters for the local grocery store bulletin board.

But Shane says, “You ready?”

And Ryan says, “Born ready.”

Shane pulls open the door, holding it for Ryan (because he is a gentleman), and they’re greeted to a yellow lobby with a plastic Walmart wedding arch wrapped in fake vines settled in the corner.

“Oh, I love this,” Shane says, completely seriously and almost in awe. Ryan nearly wants to ask Shane if they could pile money into an actual venue, but then he remembers that _this isn’t real_ and _this is just so Shane and I won’t die alone_ and he smiles at Shane, who is stuck marveling the minimalistic décor.

 _I’m going to remember this forever,_ Shane’s mind is frantic, his eyes flicking between the altar and Ryan, _this is the day I’m getting married, and I’m getting married to Ryan, and I’m going to have to call my parents after this and explain everything and oh my God, I’m getting married today._

“Hello,” a woman is standing in front of them, blue eyes grinning and hair pulled back loosely, “Welcome to Instant Marriage Services, I’m Molly, are you here to be married today?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shane says, blinking himself back to sanity.

“I’ve just gotta ask a few questions before we start,” Molly folds her hands in front of her, “Are you both 18 or older?”

Ryan blinks, “Definitely.”

“Great!” She says, startling Shane into laughter. “And do you both live together?”

“Yep,” Shane says. He holds his hand up for Molly to see the pink atrocity on his finger. “We’re doing the… uh, whole nine yards.”

“How beautiful!” She claps her hands and scurries over to the desk, “Well, all I’ll need is your identification and the payment of one hundred and sixty, and you’re golden.”

“Right,” Shane and Ryan say in unison, reaching in their pockets.

“Let me pay,” Shane says.

“No, _me_.”

Shane has a wad of cash out and on the counter before Ryan can fumble for his card. Molly laughs and says something about _oh, you’ll have a wonderful marriage_ before she disappears into a back room to grab certificates and forms to boot.

Shane rubs his eyes with his fingertips and Ryan taps his hands on the desk, and then their eyes meet and they break into laughter.

“This is ridiculous,” Ryan says.

“This is _so_ ridiculous,” Shane says.

Molly returns. She has papers in her hands, and she’s looking between them with this kind smile when she says, “So, will you require a ceremony?”

Shane opens his mouth to reply. _Oh, no, Ryan wants to get this over with pretty quick -_

“A quick one,” Ryan says. “That makes it official, right?”

“Of course.”

Molly ducks under the desk and pulls out a wooden crate, full to the brim with various props.

“Oh!” Shane throws his hands over his head in overwhelming excitement before diving headlong into the crate, pulling out a veil. “Oh, Ryan!”

“Wow,” he says, plucking a plain-ol’-tie out and pinning it to his shirt collar. “How pretty.”

“Thanks,” Shane flutters his lashes and clips the veil into his hair, letting it trail feather-light down his neck. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Ryan says, cringing at his delivery, but Shane’s already peering over the desk and listening to what Molly’s saying.

“… So, we’ll step right over there,” she points to the set up in the corner, “and sign your license, quickly make it official, and you’ll be out of here. Your copy of the license will be sent to your home and to the City and County of San Francisco Office which was paid for in your one hundred and …”

 

Ryan’s not paying attention.

 

He’s not paying attention as he stares at Shane, whose hand is over his mouth in concentration, and wonders what the hell he’s doing here.

Ryan can definitely feel Shane’s hand in his as he’s walked over to the plastic arch, the feel of a pen in his hand as he signs his name on the line, right under Shane’s.

And then he wakes up. Just in time.

“You may now seal your marriage with a kiss.”

Ryan blinks himself awake, looking at Shane in a sheer panic. Shane just stares at him, almost sure that he heard that wrong.

“I totally forgot about this part,” Shane whispers, like Molly can’t hear.

“Me too.”

Shane shrugs, and Ryan thinks for a moment that Shane’s going to say _my bad_ or _we’ll find another place that doesn’t make us kiss_ but then Shane’s warm hands are on either side of his face, and their mouths are _so close_ , and Ryan’s looking between Shane’s eyes like _what are we doing_ –

And he almost says _I don’t want to kiss you, dude._ Or at least something.

But he doesn’t. Because he kind of completely does.

 

 

“So, are we going to talk about this?” Shane asks, his hands stiff on the wheel, his mouth slightly puffy and warm as they drive back to the house.

Ryan stares down at the papers in his lap, covered in cold plastic, “Probably not.”

“Right,” Shane says, nodding. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooo you guyyyyyyyyyyyyyyys
> 
> i'm so excited to write more
> 
> sorry for the weird formatting. i just think it makes sense in my head, for pacing's sake.


	5. Chapter 5

Shane sits on the couch, his chin hidden in the collar of his shirt as he scrolls mindlessly through Twitter, chuckling through his nose every now and then. Ryan is in the kitchen, sorting Shane’s cabinets because it had been “a complete disaster” and Ryan “didn’t know how he survived” before he’d gotten there.

It’s awfully simple. For their situation.

Ryan pauses, glasses in both hands, in front of the cabinet. He squints into the empty space, as if there’s something inside, “Hey, Shane?”

“Yes, dear?” Shane looks up from his phone. Ryan peers around the corner, an odd frown on his face.

“Have you seen… that video?”

Shane stares at him, a smile slowly appearing on his lips. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“No, the one with the… uh,” Ryan closes his eyes, as if trying to conjure the image out of thin air. He sets the glasses down and presses his fingertips in between his eyes, trying to remember to no avail. He gives up, looking to Shane in defeat. “You know.”

“… I do not.”

Shane had, for a moment a few hours earlier, wondered if this was better than a honeymoon. If just jumping into marriage like it was completely normal was good enough. But he’d realized, as the sleeping Ryan breathed calm and peaceful on the base of his neck, that it didn’t really matter.

Shane would, while Ryan slept, attempt to hold his hand. As an experiment, he told himself. He’d reach and brush his fingertips across Ryan’s knuckles, reach for him, and even in sleep, Ryan would twist away with a faint grimace. Even subconsciously, he was adamant that this _wasn’t a real marriage._

This was simply a circumstance of protection from a late life of loneliness. Nothing more.

“Fine,” Ryan says semi-aggressively, making Shane jump, “I’ll just text it to you.”

He leans against the wall, a mere five feet away, audibly tapping through his phone. He pauses after a moment.

“Wait,” he looks to Shane, “Is your phone number the same?”

“From 2009?” Shane stares at him in absolute awe, “Definitely not.”

“Well, then,” Ryan tosses his phone. Shane catches it, surprisingly. “Put it in there, big guy.”

“Right.” Shane holds it like an artifact, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he types furiously. He grins at his work, handing the phone over, “There ya go.”

Ryan glances at the screen for just a second before he frowns. “Ugh, Shane. _Seriously_?”

His contact name is _Husbie <3\. _How disgusting.

“Yeah, seriously.” Shane’s so _smug_ , like he’s proud of this. Ryan has no idea why.

Ryan just frowns and sends the video. Shane receives it, sees the thumbnail, and laughs.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this already,” Shane says, and Ryan yells through his lips in frustration.

“Just watch it anyway,” he demands, going back to the kitchen.

“You got it.”

-

“So,” Shane said, looking down at Ryan as he packs his last bag, stuffing it into the back of his mother’s Subaru Outback. “This is it, then?”

“What do you mean, _this is it_?” Ryan scoffed, closing the trunk. He leaned against the car, his arms crossed. “I’m not _dying._ I’m just moving a few hours away. We’re still gonna be in the same state, dude.”

“Right, I’m totally overreacting,” Shane nodded, expecting Ryan to push back and tell him _no, no, I get it, I’ll miss you too._

Ryan just shrugged, “Kinda.”

Shane wanted to push back. But he didn’t want things to end like that. An argument in his driveway would be a terrible memory for them to part on. He wanted Ryan to keep in touch. Everyone else he knew were on their way out, out of town to move south toward Hollywood, toward opportunities. Opportunities were expired for Shane, at this point. He was too attached to his home to move anywhere. Especially now that his home was moving eight hours away.

“Welp,” Shane said, clapping his hands. He stepped away, “I’ll see you around, then.”

“I’ll call you when I get there,” Ryan said, walking around to the front, opening the door. He watched as Shane turned to walk to his own car, his shoulders stiff and his hands limp in his pockets. The goodbye seemed too quick, hardly a goodbye at all, and it made Ryan feel incredibly lonely. “Wait.”

Shane looked over his shoulder, “What?”

“Just…” Ryan sighed, slamming the door closed and sprinting toward Shane, whose alarmed face and outstretched hands clearly showed that he thought he was about to be tackled.

Instead, Ryan jumped on him. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s neck, his legs around Shane’s thighs, hugging him tight. Shane caught him, fighting through the shock.

“I’m going to miss you, man,” Ryan said.

“Me too, Ryan,” Shane rolled his eyes, hugging tight around his torso, “I think I’ve made that pretty clear, though.”

Translation: _just say you’ll miss me too, for the love of God._

“Maybe,” Ryan scoffed, burrowing his nose in Shane’s neck. Shane wanted to cry, but he didn’t. If Ryan didn’t see it, then it didn’t happen. “Okay.”

Ryan climbed down Shane like a tree, brushing himself off before holding his hand out. Shane stared at it, confused and dazed.

“I’ll see you,” Ryan said slowly, taking Shane’s hand in his, and shaking it. Shane eventually reciprocated. “…When I’m thirty.”

Shane stilled, confused, but then he recalled the handshake. _Oh, yeah._ He gave a brief nod. “When you’re thirty.”

Ryan finally let him go, backing to the end of the driveway with his eyes on Shane, before he finally broke away and went to the car. Shane watched him pull away, standing alone on the concrete, almost waiting for the spot of Ryan’s mother’s car to turn around and for Ryan to say he’d stay.

But this was real life.

He’d just have to wait another 12 years to see him again.

-

“I’m gonna go to the store,” Shane says, looking into the pantry. Ryan comes up behind him, tilting his head. “I’m buying for two now.”

“There’s plenty of food in here,” Ryan ducks under his arm, “Are you blind?”

“But nothing…” Shane waves his hands around, “ _Easy._ ”

“So?” Ryan grabs a couple boxes and spins around to look at him, “Look. Pasta. You can make pasta, that’s _easy_.”

“Ughhhh,” Shane’s arms hang in front of him as he slouches, “But it’s easier to order stuff.”

“I can’t believe you’ve survived so long,” Ryan scoffs, “We can run to the store and grab some healthy easy stuff. That you can make even when I’m not here.”

Shane’s shoulders tighten and his posture grows rigid, like he’s got a string through his head that’s been pulled. “...When you’re not here?”

“Wha – oh,” Ryan shakes his head, stepping closer and oddly tapping Shane’s shoulder with a box. It's clearly a gesture of comfort, though he isn't quite sure how to comfort Shane yet. “No, I mean… like, once I get a job and you’re working from home. When you get hungry, and stuff.”

Shane laughs, “ _Oh,_ right. That makes sense. Sorry I kinda got…”

Ryan sighs, deep and heavy, a release. “No, it’s okay. I would have… yeah, sorry I wasn’t clear. That must have been the worst.”

“Maybe a bit,” Shane looks at the boxes in Ryan’s hands, trying to come up with a different topic. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We go to the store, I’ll pick out some stuff –” Ryan points at him, “And _I’m_ buying.”

“But – “

“I’m buying, Shane, you’ve bought _literally_ everything else,” Ryan says, and that’s the end of it. Because Shane is laughing himself out of crippling worry and Ryan’s smiling, and suddenly, the pantry feels much bigger. Like they could live in there for a while. “Okay? Do we have a deal?”

“Whatever,” Shane mutters.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“This,” Ryan says, holding up a jar of what Shane _thinks_ is a bunch of human skin covered in sugar, “is crystallized ginger.”

“… Okay,” Shane tries his best to pretend like he wants to eat that, “What… why would you want that.”

“It’s… good for you, Shane, and it’s like candy,” Ryan screws open the lid and Shane starts to panic, “Shane, it’s okay, I’m gonna buy it. Just try some.”

“I would rather die,” Shane smiles sweetly.

“Put it in your mouth or I will kill you,” Ryan says, just as sweetly, holding it up to Shane’s lips.

“Pushy,” Shane says. He takes a small bite and gags, stepping away and shaking his head, “No. Nope, no.”

“Whatever,” Ryan pops it in his mouth. Shane is in disbelief. “You’ll learn to love it, one day.”

“In your dreams,” Shane mumbles.

Shane can’t help but follow helplessly behind Ryan through aisles he’s never paid mind to. He stares on as Ryan grabs vegetables of bright colors and boxes of drab ones, and Shane has nothing to say. Frankly, he’s frightened. He’s a simple guy – he follows people who look like they know what they’re doing, and he takes less than 10 minutes in the grocery store on any given day.

“Stop looking like that,” Ryan says, staring up at Shane in the check-out line.

“Like what?”

“Like I killed your dog.”

“Don’t have a dog,” Shane grimaces down at the basket full of health foods. “But he _feels_ dead.”

“Shane.” Ryan glares, soft and warm, stepping up to the register to pay. Shane just stands behind him, not sure how to act – he’d not been to the store with someone else in years. He didn’t know where to stand.

“Why didn’t you get those chips, babe?” Shane throws a thumb over his shoulder as they leave the grocery store, the cart squeaking as Ryan pushes it toward Shane’s car. “I thought you loved those, when we were kids.”

“I did. Before I got a job that required me to be fit,” Ryan says. He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning Shane’s keys. The tall man places them in Ryan’s palm. “And don’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” Shane picks up a paper bag with his thumb and index finger, sticking his tongue out in repulsion. Ryan unlocks and pulls the trunk door open and over his head, dropping the keys into Shane’s front pocket.

“ _Babe,_ ” Ryan mocks him, voice deep in the back of his throat. He picks up a bag and looks over his shoulder, “It’s gross, I don’t like it.”

“Then un-marry me,” Shane says, and Ryan’s shoulders drop as he rolls his eyes. “Do it, I dare you.”

“Don’t wanna,” Ryan replies, dragging a heavy bag into the trunk. Shane blinks, surprised at the genuine tone. “Now _help_ me, Shane, stop standing around.”

“Alright, babe.”

-

Ryan’s bed was too stiff. The sheets smelled unfamiliar and sterile, and the window was too high for him to see out of, and his _roommate._ God, his roommate. The semester was going to be miserable, and no amount of basketball posters or new sneakers could distract him from that fact.

But, he figured, Shane could.

“I made it,” he said into the phone. “To Chapman.”

_“Nice. In one piece?”_

“Yep!” Ryan glanced around the near-empty dorm with a frown, “I think so, anyway.”

_“Well, if you left anything here, I can bring it to you.”_

“What, like an arm?” Ryan laughed a bit too hard at the prospect, but Shane was right there with him on the line. “Yeah, I’ll let you know for sure.”

_“Alright, man.”_

A long silence. Ryan wanted to say something so badly, but he had nothing to say.

Well, except for one thing.

“I’m gonna miss you, man,” he said quietly. No one else was in the room, but he swore to God, if anyone else heard him utter those words, he would die on the spot.

 _“Really?”_ Shane’s voice was so vaguely filled with hope, it made Ryan’s chest ache.

“Yeah, man. Of course I am, you dumbass,” Ryan rolled his eyes, wondering how he hadn’t made it as clear as he’d wanted. He’d known Shane for his entire life. Of course he was going to miss the guy. “You’re my best friend, I’ve seen you every day for the past 18 years.”

 _“We can talk every day, if you want,”_ Shane’s voice offered. The commitment was tempting, but it sounded exhausting.

“That sounds good,” Ryan said anyway. “We should do that.”

_“You know I don’t do anything anyways, so… whenever you call, I’ll answer.”_

“At least let it ring a couple times,” Ryan laughed. He messed with the blinds. “You don’t want me to think you’re just sitting around, waiting for me to call.”

_“But that’s what I’ll be doing.”_

“Ew.” Ryan stared out the window into the parking lot.

 _“Yeah.”_ Shane chuckled. _“Alright, well. I’ll leave you to unpack and stuff. When do your first classes start?”_

“Eh, in a week or so.” Ryan wished he could have punched Shane’s shoulder or look him in the eyes or _anything_ other than this. It was so intrapersonal. “I’ll talk to you later, Shane.”

_“Okay, buddy. Be safe.”_

“I will.”

-

Shane spares cursory glances toward the clear jar of candied skin grafts as he half-heartedly helps Ryan make lunch. He’s never put so much effort into something that will last less than five minutes, and it’s nearly discouraging. But he sees the look Ryan’s wearing, snapping in his face and laughing at Shane’s panic-stricken expression, and finds himself putting in the effort anyway.

“See?” Ryan pushes the lid down with a click. “This is lunch for today, and that,” he points to the piles of other containers full of food, “is lunch for the rest of the week.”

“Fascinating,” Shane says, voice devoid of sarcasm.

“Right?” Ryan’s smiling so wide, Shane finds himself mirroring the expression. “Well, now that that’s done, you can chow down. I need to look for something to do.”

“I’ve got yoyos in my room,” Shane offers.

Ryan looks at him. “Work, Shane. I mean a job.”

“Ohhh,” Shane nods. “Right, of course.”

“I…” Ryan shakes his head, choking down a laugh. “You’re something else.”

“… I guess I am,” the tall man says slowly, not sure if that’s a good thing.

Ryan just laughs at him again and disappears in the bedroom to grab his laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course shane yoyos. of course. 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

“Ow!!!!  _Fuck_!!!!!” Shane’s voice comes from the bathroom, shooting under the door, the sound landing sharp in Ryan’s ear.

Ryan takes a moment, a pause –  _maybe Shane’s singing along to an avant garde musical again,_ he thinks to himself – but then a muffled groan can just barely be made out over the loud spray of water hitting the shower curtain, and Ryan is on his feet, stumbling toward the noise.

“Shane?” Ryan wraps his hand around the cold doorknob, “You okay, man?”

“I fell,” Shane says distantly, raising his voice to be heard. His voice is unusually raspy, and it makes Ryan panic.

“Fuck,” he mutters, bursting into the room, nearly bending the hinges.  

“Ryan, I’m naked,” Shane’s voice can be heard, somewhere near the ground, through the wall of thick mist. “At least  _knock._ ”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ryan says, reaching blindly around the curtain to turn the water off. “Jesus, Shane, the water was as hot as it could go.”

“Well, yeah,” Shane mumbles. “Everyone does that.”

Ryan is appalled. “I don’t do that.”

“What, you’re a lukewarm guy?” Shane asks, voice still completely shot. He’d knocked the wind out of himself.

Ryan is rummaging in the cabinets for a towel to cover Shane with so he can begin to assess the damage. The tall man is still hidden by the opaque white curtain, and Ryan will be damned if he’s expected to just take a peek inside. He doesn’t need that, not today. “No, I take cold showers.”

He turns slightly at the sound of the shower curtain rattling to the side on the metal track. Shane is peeking his head over the lip of the tub, mouth agape. Ryan gasps at the sight - a blotch of bright red blood on his temple.

Shane hasn’t noticed that, yet.

“ _Cold_ showers?” He asks, aghast. “Are you  _fucking_  kidding me?”

“No,” Ryan tugs a dark towel out and tosses it at Shane, mindful of how blood looks on white towels and the effort it takes to remove stains. “Cover yourself so I can fix you. Quickly.”

“You’re inhuman,” Shane mutters, groaning as he pushes the cloth over his crotch, “Ryan, I can’t… see.”

Ryan is on his feet in moments. He throws the curtain to the side and kneels next to Shane, looking over his injury. “You can’t  _see?_ ”

“Well, I can, it’s just…” Shane lulls his head to the side to look at his husband, eyes dilated, “…fuzzy.”

“Shane, we gotta get you to a hospital.”

“…No,” Shane begins to stand, wrapping the towel around his waist, leaning against the wall. His skin is red and steaming.  “No hospital.”

“Yes hospital, you idiot,” Ryan holds his hand out and Shane grabs it. “You probably have a concussion.”

“I bet I don’t,” Shane says. “Just dehydrated.”

“Um?” Ryan moves him to sit on the closed toilet seat, “Maybe that might explain the blindness. And the fall. When’s the last time you drank water?”

“Last month, probably.”

“ _Shane_.”

“What?” Shane rubs his eyes with his hands. His hair, soaking wet, drips onto his shoulders and down his chest. Ryan reminds himself to  _focus._ The tall man brings his hands away from his face and looks at them. He pauses. “Is that my blood?”

“It certainly isn’t  _mine,_ ” Ryan tugs a sheet of toilet paper off and folds it, pressing it to Shane’s head. “Hold that, will you?”

“Yeah,” Shane slurs, suddenly very tired and very cold. He raises a shaky hand and holds the tissue with his fingertips as Ryan dries his hair and shoulders with a hand towel. “Don’t look at my dick.”

“Not looking at your dick,” Ryan says definitively. “Just… saving you.”

“Good,” Shane nods, eyes closed. “Don’t look at it.”

“Alright,” Ryan’s voice is fond as he cleans the wound and bandages him up. “You need to lay down and take a nap, big guy.”

“Thought I had a concussion,” Shane mumbles.

“You get sleepy after showers,” Ryan helps him onto his feet, letting him drape a wet arm around his shoulders. He isn’t sure why he remembers this – a distant memory of Shane after letting Ryan drag him outside to play, the tall boy falling asleep on his shoulder. “And you can sleep after you hit your head. It doesn’t make it worse, I read about it last week. You need to rest.”

“Alright, doc,” Shane rests his cheek on the top of Ryan’s head as they walk. “Thanks, Ry.”

“No problem,” Ryan pushes Shane to flop onto the mattress, walking to the closet and picking out the softest clothes he can find. “I’m gonna leave. Will you put these on?”

“Stay,” Shane says into the comforter.

“Get dressed,” Ryan scoffs. Shane looks ridiculous. Like usual.

“But…  _then_ … stay?” Shane says, again, into the comforter.

“Sure,” Ryan places the clothes out beside Shane. “Be right back.”

-

Ryan hadn’t texted Shane in a long time.

It had been at least a week since Shane had texted him with those  _stupid_ words that had made his skin crawl with a displaced anger, made him cancel all of his plans for the night (one plan, a measly movie night with the dorm neighbors) so that he could pout alone in his room.

 _Sorry, I can’t call right now_ the message read.

Ryan had frowned at that. It sounded urgent and clinical. Quite the opposite of Shane. Had someone died?

 _Are you okay?_ He had sent. Like a good friend. A  _good friend_ , unlike some people.

_Yeah, I’ve just got this weird date thing I have to go to. I’ll call you after?_

A date. Shane was going on a  _date._  How  _dare_ he?

He didn’t answer then. He turned his phone and placed it aggressively on his bedside table, storming off to take a cold shower and scrub the anger from his skin. It didn’t work.

He figured he would feel better about it later, that the rage would wear off, but then a few hours later, Shane texted again to say  _I’m back_  and Ryan felt it all over again.

Shane had called anyway. Which didn’t help anything.

He left a message.  _Typical._

And it was all  _hey, are you okay?_ and  _it wasn’t really even a good date_ and  _why aren’t you answering?_ and  _call me back when you get this._

 _Fuck him_ , Ryan thought. And his thought was completely justified.

Ryan didn’t call him back. And he didn’t answer any of the texts for a week because there was no point to it anymore. Shane was looking for someone to be with, and that meant he would have someone, and they wouldn’t get married when he turned thirty.

There was no reason to talk to him anymore, he told himself.

Even if they were friends for a long time before that. He seemed to forget that part in his dulled anger.

They weren’t going to get married, so why keep talking?

And they didn’t.

-

“I need to call my mom,” Shane says, voice gravelly from sleep, his hair just finally dried.

Ryan’s on his laptop beside him, the fan wheezing to keep up with Ryan’s quick searches. He closes it as soon as he hears Shane speak. He turns, “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Where’s my phone?” Shane is too tired to be frantic, but his voice is wavering, hands patting his pajama pockets and reaching toward the bedside table. He whines, a headache throbbing just behind his eyes, “ _Ryannnn_.”

“I’ve got it here, you weirdo,” Ryan slides it across the blanket, “Why? You just got up?”

“I should probably tell her that I got married,” he says.

“Oh, right,” Ryan nods. “Maybe you should do that.”

“Had a weird dream,” Shane mumbles, leaning his head back onto the pillows as the phone rings. “Ugh, my head.”

“I’ll grab you some Tylenol,” Ryan says, rolling out of bed like he knows where the medicine is.

“Thanks, babe,” Shane says. It’s the first time he doesn’t do it on purpose, and Ryan knows this, because Shane has this look on his face like  _wait, what did I say_  for just a moment before he perks up and says, “Oh, hey, mom. Yeah, I’m good. You’ll  _never_  guess what I did.”


	8. Chapter 8

Ryan is standing on the coffee table. He recalls a split second before, his feet safe on warm, soft carpet – a harsh contrast to the wood he’d jumped up onto to save himself from the apparition that had brushed against his calf as he walked toward the couch.

“Shane?!” Ryan doesn’t recognize his voice as he says it. He throws his arm out to point at the ghost that isn’t a ghost anymore. “There’s a cat in here.”

“I know.” Shane peeks into the living room from the hallway, squinting through the sleepiness that hasn’t gone away yet. He’s got his pink mug in his hand and a bottle of allergy medicine in the other, holding it out to Ryan (who is just slightly taller than Shane from his perch). “Her name is Emily. And no worries, I’ve got a bottle of allergy meds everywhere in the house you’d think to look.”

Ryan takes the meds without hesitation, grabbing Shane’s mug along with it. “I had a heart attack.”

“She’s not a ghost, Ryan.”

“She could have been,” Ryan shoves the mug back into Shane’s hands, pocketing the antidote.

Shane hums, meaning to turn back to the room to put pants on, but stops. “Also, there’s a litter box in the bathroom, so don’t go wandering in there tonight in the pitch black like you always do,” Shane’s smiling as he watches Ryan step back to the ground. “I’m not gonna put up with your complaining.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan mutters, grabbing the remote.                                                 

Shane’s back in the room before Ryan can turn the TV on.

“Hey, we need to go to my mom’s, probably,” his smiley, sleepy nature is completely gone by the time Ryan looks up at him. He’s completely sobered. “Soon, or something.”

“… O- _kay_ ,” Ryan says, immediately concerned. “Why?”

“When I called, she said we should come for dinner and stuff,” Shane takes a long sip of coffee – Ryan’s afraid he’ll drown – to avoid continuing the conversation he’d started. Unfortunately, he has to swallow. “Because that’s what people do, I think.”

“Yeah,” Ryan looks toward the ground. “And do we have to…”

Shane looks down at his hand, fingers wrapped around the handle, his ring reflecting pink onto the white, cheap porcelain. He sighs. “We don’t have to wear these.”

“We should, though,” Ryan nods as if to convince himself that they _really_ should.

“Right.” Shane sets his coffee on the table and lifts Emily into his arms. She curls against his chest, her head under his head. “She’s gonna be with us for a few days, by the way. Not a full week.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan says. “As long as she doesn’t claw my eyes out while I sleep, it’s fine.”

“She’s declawed,” Shane winks and disappears down the hallway, back to his peppy self and leaving a very confused Ryan to go on with his day.

-

Shane stood in front of his mother.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said, though she wasn’t looking at him at all. Rather, she’d found her coffee particularly interesting, a smug smile curling the corners of her lips.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she said.

“Just say whatever you need to,” Shane slipped onto the stool, resting his head on his hands as his elbows pressed onto the cold surface of the kitchen island. “I’m too tired to be offended.”

“So, you’ll just live here until you die, then?” It’s too quick to be off the top of her head. She’d clearly been plotting how to broach this topic, and she’d had enough time to.

Shane had been watching all of his friends move out of town. Ryan was just the first. Tom had changed his status on Facebook to _Serious_ rather than _It’s Complicated_ and had moved out with his girlfriend with a little one on the way. All of the improv guys were pursuing careers in New York and LA, and the girl he’d tried to date had gotten engaged a few months following their odd outing.

He was just sat in a glass box, watching everyone leave around him. And it was all his fault, for placing all of his eggs in a single basket. A basket completely based off of a promise made by two babies on a lame Saturday.

“… Bold of you to assume that I’ll die,” Shane said, too deadpan for anyone’s liking.

“Shane,” she looked at him like only a mother could. “You need to get out of here some time.”

“I don’t want to,” he slipped his glasses down his nose and polished the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “Every time I drive by the airport, my hands get all sweaty.”

She sighed. “And there’s _no one_ left to go with you?”

Shane hissed like he’d been stung. “Yep. Seems so.”

“You should call Ryan,” she stood to go to the living room. “You haven’t talked to him in awhile.”

“I’ve _tried_ ,” he said to an empty room.

-

Shane’s mom looks the same. _Exactly_ the same.

The ring feels hot on his finger as he shakes her hand (like they’ve never met before), and she compliments him on it and tells him _he looks so grown up_ and asks him how Chapman was.

Her hair’s the same color, brown and blonde and grey, bangs perfectly curled toward her forehead, bob pointing to her shoulders. He can hear himself make a joke, hear her laugh at it, and then she’s pulling Shane into the kitchen so that he’ll help bring all the snacks out.

Ryan sits down on the couch he vaguely remembers the feel of as they leave the room.

“So,” Shane says, reaching for the glass platters with _M_ painted on them in white. “Cheese platters, then.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Shane raises his eyebrows and turns on his heel. Her eyebrows are drawn tight over her eyes and her hands are on her hips. Shane freezes. “… What?”

“You two are _married_ ,” she says, and Shane sighs. He figured this was coming. “ _Really_ married. So, did you have a ceremony? Did you go to Vegas? Was anyone there? Where’d it _happen_?”

“At uh,” Shane closes his eyes and takes a long breath in. “Instant Marriage San Fran.”

He can sense her glaring at him.

“And do you _love_ that boy?”

“Not a boy anymore, mom,” he mumbles, trying to walk past her. He doesn’t want to answer the question, but he figures it’s quite obvious.

She stops him, hand on his chest. Shane is hesitant to respond. He cranes his neck to see where Ryan is sitting, looking through one of the picture books that had been collecting dust on the coffee table.

“This is… what I’ve been waiting for,” he says quietly. “So… I don’t know. I was waiting for him to get back so we could… uh, and that’s why I couldn’t leave.”

She seems confused by that.

“Twelve years…” She says.

“Twelve years,” he confirms.

“Well, then,” she nods and pats his chest. “Do you have any pictures from the wedding?”

“Yeah, there’s one.”

“Are you wearing a suit?”

“No, it was casual.”

She doesn’t seem to like that very much, but she doesn’t say anything about it. “Could I get a copy of it?”

“Sure, mom,” Shane hands her a plate. She takes it but grabs his right hand with her free one before he can jerk out of her reach. “And this?”

“You don’t like it?”

It’s clear that she wants to say _yes, marriage is a very important thing and you seem to be making a joke of it_ but Shane looks so eager to get out of this conversation, and he keeps looking toward Ryan (scared out of his mind that he’ll hear), and she takes a step back.

“It’s very _you_ , dear.”

“I thought so,” he holds his hand out to look at it and smiles ever so softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TIME. IT'S TIME. 
> 
> IT'S TIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA


	9. Chapter 9

It all happens too fast to recount.

Shane is standing in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth and staring at himself with disgust, using a free hand to flatten down his hair. Ryan is ducking in and out of the bathroom, a different buttoned shirt on his chest each time he appears, cursing about a job interview and trying to nudge Shane to the side to reach his fancy colognes that Shane couldn’t even pronounce.

“Move _over_ ,” Ryan says through his teeth.

“I’m doing something very important right now,” Shane replies, voice tired and gravelly through the muffle of toothpaste foam. “Self-care is important.”

“It’s eleven, you should put pants on,” Ryan says, grabbing a bottle and spraying it under his arms. “Don’t you have stuff to do today?”

“Just taking care of Emily?” Shane bends to spit looking over his shoulder, “I don’t… are you okay? You sound stressed.”

“Just a little bit,” Ryan says, like it wasn’t _a little bit_ at all. “I have to _go,_ Shane, the interview starts in an hour and a half.”

“Okay, you’ve got time,” Shane places his toothbrush in the cat-shaped, porcelain holder with a clink, “Chill out, Ryan, you’re acting crazy right now.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me.” Ryan brushes his hair back aggressively.

“Is it really _that_ pressing?” Shane is concerned. “Shouldn’t you be wearing, like, athletic wear to a professional trainer interview thing?”

“Yeah, you’re completely right,” Ryan says, hands on his hips as he shoots daggers at the tall man. “Let me take advice from the guy that’s never set foot in a gym _once._ ”

Shane raises an eyebrow, “Is this how you get when you’re tense, now? Do you need a massage?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“I’m _serious_ – “

“You’re never serious,” Ryan says, and Shane has that feeling in his chest again. That _we’re going to fight_ feeling. That _we’re going to fight and it’s going to make me deeply upset_ feeling.

“Ryan, just go to your interview, dude,” he waves a hand. He figures calling Ryan "dude" will put out his fuse, or something. “It’ll go great, and we can talk when you get back.”

 

Ryan doesn’t _just go_ anywhere. He stands and points at Shane’s pink boxers and at the fact that he can’t even buy food for himself.

 

And there’s a few holes in his memory, for what comes next.

 

But what he can remember…

 

“ _I’m_ not the one who stayed in his mom’s house well into his twenties,” Ryan says, and Shane blinks and suddenly his eyes are drowning in something between anger and disappointment.

“Right,” Shane says, laughing through the sting in his chest. “Absolutely right. Yeah. And _I’m_ the one who suddenly stopped answering my best friend’s messages.”

“It didn’t matter, anymore.”

Shane stares at him. “What?”

“You were… you were on a date or whatever, so why answer if it isn’t going anywhere? You know?”

Shane’s hands start shaking. He clasps them together in front of him to stop it. “You stopped talking to me, your friend, because I went on a date?”

Hearing his own logic bounce back to him, especially in Shane’s quivering voice, make him pause. “Yeah… Shane, I didn’t think it mattered.”

“But it _had_ to.” Shane’s voice is desperate, dripping down the front of his shirt and landing on the plush bathmat beneath his feat.

Ryan looks away.

“Ryan, I waited twelve years for you, you… fuckin…,” Shane wishes he was wearing pants. He feels vulnerable and empty and _angry,_ more than he has been for a long time, and he can’t point any fingers, which makes it worse. “I sat around here and I thought it was all for something. That’s _my_ fault, I understand that. You didn’t force me to stay here my entire life. But you can’t… fuckin’. You _can’t_ say it didn’t matter, because that’s… it means I’ve wasted my entire life.”

Ryan’s stopped looking at the ground, and tears are brimming his eyes – the manly kind of tears he’s shed as long as Shane can remember, his jaw is tight and hands balled up, shoulders shuddering – and Shane isn’t sure what to do now.

“I didn’t. I didn’t know that, Shane.” It sounds genuine, but it makes Shane feel worse.

“It’s okay,” Shane hears himself saying.

“No, it’s…” Ryan reaches out and touches Shane’s shoulder, still not sure what to do. Shane isn’t crying but he feels like he should be. “It’s not, I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. He feels Emily brush against his ankle and he stoops down to take her. Ryan stops him, hand on his arm. “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“No worries,” Shane says, his red face the only remnant of the panic he’d shown moments before. He lifts the fluffball into the crook of his elbow. She nuzzles against his chest and he looks down at her and sighs.

“ _Yes_ worries,” Ryan takes the cat from Shane and the tall man tries to stop him.

“You’re _allergic_ – “

“You could have moved away when you went to college, and you didn’t, and I don’t know _why_ I did, but I thought maybe you forgot,” Ryan cradles the cat and Shane reaches blindly behind him to grab medicine before Ryan starts sneezing. “And then you probably thought that too, and suddenly I started taking it seriously and I got upset, but I was… I don’t know, I was just…”

“You moved, so I figured that was the end of that,” Shane nods. “Especially when you stopped texting.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says again. Shane just swaps the cat out for a bottle of pills and shrugs. “We should probably… talk more. About this.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “You’ve gotta go, you’ll be late.”

“Yeah.” Ryan looks at the door.

 

This would be a prime time to reschedule that appointment, he realizes. A good time to sit Shane down and talk things out and apologize for his words, to explain how he gets when he’s freaked out and he hasn’t had coffee, to try and understand everything.

But he goes anyway. He can’t focus during the interview, but his resume and arms seem to impress the woman at the desk, so he feels good about his chances.

During the drive home, he tries to come up with an idea of what he should say. He can picture Shane sitting on the couch with Emily on his lap, scrolling through Netflix, in the same condition as Ryan left him. Because this is what Shane does – he stays the same.

 

He doesn’t find The Same Shane at home when he unlocks the door.

Shane is standing in front of the couch, adjusting his collar in the mirror that’s hung on the wall. His _hair_ is _brushed back_ , his _buttoned_ shirt perfectly fit to his body, wearing a pair of _dress_ pants that don’t hang off his legs like sweatpants do.

Ryan finds himself dropping his messenger bag (full of extra resumes) on the ground, closing the door with his foot, walking over to look over Shane with the intention to memorize. He hasn’t seen Shane like this since middle school before the tall man had discovered how much he liked to be comfortable rather than look good.

“What were we even arguing about?” Ryan says quietly.

“I don’t know,” Shane says.

“You just have an infuriating face,” Ryan mumbles. He reaches out to do _something_ , he doesn’t know, but Shane takes his hand and sighs.

“You’re stuck with his face for a long time.”

Ryan shrugs, “Not so bad.”

Shane smiles, almost insecure, “I’m thinking I might fuck around and go out tonight.” The invitation is silent.

“Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love me some angst in the home stretch of a story. 
> 
> all up from here, though! i love you


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally

The saddest part of it all is that he can’t even blame alcohol. Because he didn’t have any.

There is a dull ache on Shane’s neck, from under his jaw to the base of his throat. His skin is tight, familiarly so, and he can’t will himself to open his eyes because he knows he’s going to have to face what happened.

The nerves he lacked the night before comes back within seconds and it brings friends. Shane moves to the side, trying to escape the bed without waking Ryan (who is drooling on his chest). He can’t make it far, only wiggling one leg to fall off the bed, the sole of his foot pressed against the cold floor, before Ryan says, “What are you doing?” 

“Shower,” Shane says tiredly, finally opening an eye to peer down at Ryan, who is remembering in real time what happened as he’s staring at Shane’s face. His eyes are stretched as wide as they can go.

“… _ Right _ .”

“Okay.”

Shane goes to completely remove himself from the equation, but he pauses and looks down at Ryan. 

“Um,” he says, before pressing his lips to Ryan’s forehead. A sweet peck. Like a signature.

Ryan groans, “Shane, what the  _ fuck _ ?”

“Sorry.” He’s not. He extracts himself from Ryan, who buries his face into Shane’s pillow. “Shower,” he says again.

He stumbles to the bathroom. He tries to regain control of his legs, and the moment he does, he looks in the mirror and loses his balance, grasping onto the counter. He watches himself, making sure that  _ that’s  _ him. And it is. 

His white dress shirt is barely clasped by the bottom two buttons, hanging from his shoulders and putting the darkest bruises Shane has  _ ever  _ seen that train from his neck all the way down to his hipbones, down his thighs, stopping just before his ankles. Near-pristine lines of hickeys that Ryan crafted personally with his mouth and tongue and  _ teeth  _ and Shane can remember every second it took to craft each of them. 

“Ryan, you’re so fucking possessive,” Shane mumbles, pressing his forehead to the mirror and staring down at his chest.

“So are you,” Ryan’s voice is distant, but the bed creaks, and footsteps patter inconsistently on the wood floors. “I think you gave me hickeys on my ears, man.”

“Probably.” Shane can hear the drawers rattle, “You’ve got good ears.

“And you’ve got good legs,” Ryan’s voice is gruff with sleep (and from yelling), “Hey, I’m going to take some of your boxers.”

“Alright, I think you’re entitled to them,” Shane says, laughing for some reason. 

“… Fair.”

Shane is tempted to close the door, lock it, and forward all his mail to the bathroom for the foreseeable future, but Ryan slides into Shane’s view, perfectly placed in the middle of the doorframe. 

“We need to talk about that.” Ryan must have been entirely naked in the bed, and now as he stands in Shane’s boxers, he looks ten times more vulnerable. Shane only casts a glance in his direction before he loses his breath again. Because Ryan is gorgeous. “By the way. Having sex and stuff.”

“We’re going to need to order a lifetime supply of concealer online to cover all this up,” Shane says, not really answering because he doesn’t know what to really say about it. 

“Yeah, but after we talk.”

Shane looks over at him. Finally. A real look. And Ryan is even more marked up than he is. Because, arguably, Shane’s wanted this for a little bit longer. Getting all of Ryan to work with, he was a little overwhelmed.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Ryan agrees with a small nod.

“You left the dress shirt on,” Shane slides it off his shoulders to pool around his feet – he’s completely naked, now, which he figures doesn’t matter much anymore. 

“You look handsome in it.”

Shane stares at him for a long time, “So, is this a…”  _ A real thing. _

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He holds up his hand. He’s got his ring on. “I guess it is.”

Shane nods and smiles gingerly. Suddenly he doesn’t feel quite so exposed anymore. “I need to shower.”

“Same,” Ryan says. Shane watches as Ryan steps in the room and walks around him to turn the shower on. 

  
  


Showering is interesting.

  
  


Ryan suddenly finds his voice and begins to speak a  _ lot _ , almost as if they’ve been like this for ages, and Shane can only watch as he talks and talks, only pausing to duck his head under the showerhead – 

“… and, I mean, I’m thirty, now. I haven’t, like, done anything like that since my early twenties, you know? I didn’t even know you had that in you, by the way – “

Ryan places his hands onto Shane’s upper arms and turns their positions. Shane just lets him do whatever he wants. He’s completely useless as everything begins to sink in, and by the time he figures out that he can put his mouth on Ryan’s mouth  _ any time  _ he wants, the water is getting cold and Ryan’s complaining and pushing at his chest. 

“Shane, I’m coldddd.”

“Sorry,” Shane reaches behind him to shut the water off, grabs a warm towel from the rack, wraps it around Ryan’s shoulders, and tries to kiss him again. 

“Shane – “

“Just lemme – “

“Shane.” Ryan places his palm over Shane’s mouth and shoots him a glare. Shane pouts with his eyes. “There are better places to do this.”

“Mrfph,” Shane says. Ryan removes his hand. “But I need to catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“All the time we could have been kissing since you got here,” Shane says. Ryan rolls his eyes and throws the shower curtain to the side. 

“That’s not how this works.”

“We’re making the rules, here, Ryan,” Shane follows him, nearly slipping on the floor of the tub despite a mat being present.

“Whatever.”

-

Shane looked  _ good _ . He looked confident and put together (words Ryan or anyone had never used to describe Shane  _ ever _ ) under the dim light of the bar, folding his arms and leaning on his elbows as he called the bartender over. It was like a scene in a movie, and Ryan was an extra that had been placed in the foreground.

 

Yikes. 

 

Ryan stumbled onto one of the stools next to Shane and tried to pull his wallet from his pocket. He should have known better. 

“What do you want?” Shane asked. 

“I’m paying,” Ryan said.

“What… do you want… to  _ drink _ ,” Shane said, in no way planning to allow Ryan to pay. 

“Coke,” Ryan said.

“With… rum?”

“No, just regular,” Ryan said. Shane looked him oddly – this seemed like a prime time to get absolutely wasted, to lean on Shane’s shoulder just in time to pass out, let the tall man carry him to the car and avoid talking on the way home – but he didn’t want to encourage that behavior. So he dropped it. 

“We’re gonna look ridiculous,” Shane said with a laugh that was higher in pitch than he intended, “Two old guys in fancy clothes at a bar, ordering soft drinks.”

“You’re getting one too?” Ryan looked at him.

“Sprite,” Shane nodded. “Thought you’d remember that much.”

“I… I feel like I remember you telling me you didn’t drink around  _ me  _ because that’d be a bad influence,” Ryan said as Shane mouthed along with the  _ bad influence  _ part. 

“No, I just didn’t drink,” Shane said. “Thought maybe that would make me seem pretty cool.”

Ryan scoffed, “You were lame.”

“Yet, you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

There was an odd silence. Ryan could somewhat immerse himself in the game, but Shane could only busy himself by pouring his Sprite over ice as slowly as possible. Just so he’d have something to do. Just so he wouldn’t have to talk. 

At the very least, he’d said everything that had weighed down on him for so many years. He wished he could feel any better than he did, but they weren’t  _ talking  _ anymore, somehow even less than they had when they were across the States. Ryan had barely taken a sip of his Coke, but Shane was on his second soda, and he was completely thinking about going to the bathroom to just hide for awhile. 

“Hey,” Ryan said. 

“Hi,” Shane said, looking up at the TV over the bar as if he’d been doing so the entire time. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Shane blinked. He wanted to say  _ hey, that was my idea  _ but that would imply that he too wanted to escape, so he just nodded. “Have a dandy time.”

“... Will do.”

Ryan slipped off the stool and walked toward the neon restroom signs. Shane’s eyes followed him as the cold glass slowly numbed his palm. He sighed.

“Now or never, buddy,” the bartender said. 

“We’re married,” Shane said quietly. He paused. 

 

They  _ were  _ married, weren’t they?

 

He followed Ryan. He crossed the room, a few yards in seconds, and then Ryan was under him and trying to pull away. 

“Dude, your hand is freezing cold.”

“Sorry,” Shane said. His  _ deer in the headlights  _ eyes were on full display and Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. You have to go to the  - “

“Actually, I was gonna hide from you,” Ryan said, chuckling. Shane didn’t blink. 

He simply wrapped his hands around Ryan’s face 

 

(“Cold?!” Ryan said.)

 

and kissed him.

For real. No prelude, no Molly standing there with her hands clasped. A very awkward moment in a virtually empty bar. 

 

The bartender whistled. Ryan pulled away early to react. Shane couldn’t really emote and could only see Ryan through a narrow margin as the rest of the world was pretty much dead to him. 

“That was a little better than last time,” Ryan said with a curt nod. Shane was still looking at him, eyebrows drawn together, like he was thinking  _ oh, so that’s something I’m capable of.  _ “So…” Ryan patted Shane’s chest, “Good job.”

“Should we go home?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know what that means.”

_ Like, go home to fuck go home? Or go home to go home? _

“Just… get in the car… and drive home, is what I mean,” Ryan said, slipping his hands into his pockets. He looked pretty content with  _ going home to go home.  _

“Alrighty,” Shane dug a few bills out to tip the man behind the bar and handed Ryan the keys. “Be there in a second.”

“Okay,” Ryan smiled and walked toward the doors. 

 

Ryan kept up the facade until Shane unlocked the front door.

 

Shane had never been shoved into a door before. He’d seen it in movies, and in TV shows, and… read it in books, though he'd never admit it. And it must have worked better in those realms, because the impact of his head bumping against the wood made his world blurry. 

“You ever done this before?” Ryan asked. 

“What?” He couldn't answer correctly. Between the warp of his vision and  _whatever_ was going on in the lower half of his body, his brain was too preoccupied to understand what was coming out of Ryan's mouth between kisses. 

“ _ This _ .” Ryan placed his hand on an unmentionable place and everything cleared. 

“Not... recently,” Shane replied. "Not with a..."

“Do you want to?” Ryan’s hands, curled like a vice in Shane’s collar, began to loosen. He was cautious and gentle, a complete 180 from moments earlier.

“I do. Very much. I _much_ want that. To do that. With you.” 

Ryan nodded, walking backwards to pull him up the stairs. He was back. “You're so stupid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h a 
> 
> marriage be like


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back from the war, user Farfalla_Racine! i missed you.

“Heyyyyy,” Shane slides into the kitchen, wobbling and knocking his elbow into the wall as he slips on the tiled floor. Ryan doesn’t budge, used to this by now, snapping the lids closed on a week’s worth of Tupperware’d meals and stacking them. “Guess what.”

“What?” Ryan asks monotonously, focusing too hard to offer a tone of genuine enthusiasm.

“You have to guess, Ry,” Shane reaches over Ryan’s head to close the cabinet that Ryan was going to ask him to close anyway. “That’s the whole reason I told you to guess.”

“Shane, I’m too tired for this.”

“You slept, like, twenty hours.”

“Ten.”

“That’s a lot.”

“You slept  _ more _ .”

“Not today!” Shane gestures to himself, donning the jeans that had been stiff in his closet and the button-up shirt that isn’t wrinkled anymore due to Ryan’s sixth monthiversary gift of a steamer.

“Fine,” Ryan turns around and leans on the stove, crossing his arms over his chest. Shane just bounces up and down, waiting. “You… got a new shirt.”

“Noooo,” Shane says, flicking his hand down like a fancy woman in an old movie. With every day that passes, Shane becomes more and more the woman from an old movie he was meant to be. “We got this a few months ago.”

“Oh, right,” Ryan says, smiling because he knew that. “Now you’ve  _ gotta  _ tell me -”

“I got a job!” Shane yells before Ryan can even finish his sentence. “Guess what it is!”

“Hm,” Ryan places his finger on his lips and surveys the room. He lets his hand fall forward, pointing behind Shane. “Does it have to do anything with the huge Student Driver sign on the dining room table?”

Shane’s shoulders deflate. He slumps against the fridge, the contents and shelves rattling inside. “Yeah.”

“Forgot you put that there, huh?” Ryan laughs, gathering a few containers in his arms.

“Kinda.”

“I’m proud of you,” Ryan nods. “One more audience you most certainly appeal to. You’ve got old people, cats, and now children.”

“… Thanks?” Shane blinks as Ryan kisses the corner of his mouth before shoving him to the side and opening the fridge to find a place for all of the containers. Shane scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking Ryan’s place against the stovetop to hand his husband the Tupperware as needed. “Do I appeal to  _ you _ ?”

“I think I count as an old person,” Ryan says.

“Way to fish for a compliment,” Shane mumbles. “You’re not  _ old _ , baby, wait ‘til you’re fifty and then tell me how you feel.”

Ryan just smirks. He knows.

Josie nips at Shane’s sock-clad heel and the tall man kneels down to scold her, “Jo. You know better than that.”

She simply nips at his finger instead. He glares but can’t stay mad for long, gathering the cat up in his arms and standing again. Ryan frowns.

“When’s she leaving again?” Ryan asks. 

“I’m taking her back to her dad’s in a few minutes,” he sighs, placing his head on hers. She mewls. “Is it okay if we book five cats next week?”

“At the same time?”

“…No.”

Ryan shakes his head, “Why don’t you take a break for a while? From catsitting.”

“Oh, alright,” Shane nods, eyebrows drawn close in concern, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Ryan places his hand on Shane’s shoulder, only needing to reach a little. “No allergic reaction, I just think you need to take some time and uh…”

“That’s fair,” Shane says. He places his palm, warm, on top of Ryan’s fingers. “So I can put all my attention on you.”

“Absolutely right.”

-

When Shane rolled out of bed that morning, he didn’t anticipate this. He  _ anticipated  _ making coffee, sitting on his couch and scrolling through his photos (of grass, of leaves, whatever he could find in his backyard), not straying beyond the fence. He’d  _ anticipated _ taking three naps throughout the day, distracting himself from the red mark on the calendar that circled around the words RYAN’S BIRTHDAY _ ,  _ buying a few new streaming subscriptions because he’d already watched all of the new shows on Netflix three times through. 

But, as he tiredly watched his coffee brew, he was a car pull into the driveway. The glint of the greyed vehicle was just barely visible through the bushes outside his window. He watched a man stumble out, paper clenched in his fist, briskly walking to the door with his back too straight to be comfortable. Shane crept over to the window, the blind spot he’d become accompanied with over years of hiding from Girl Scouts and Jehovah’s Witnesses. 

He squinted. He’d known that face, somehow. Somewhere in the haze of just-barely-attained consciousness. 

He watched the man wobble on his feet, mumble to himself frantically, before ducking down and fumbling with the mat. Shane didn’t have a spare key. Was he trying to break in? Was it premeditated? If it was premeditated, he’d know there wasn’t a key under the mat.

Shane grasped the handle and pulled it open before thinking twice. His voice spoke, graveled and unused, “Uh, hey, man, you okay?”

The man’s head snapped upward, wearing an expression stricken with terror, fingers still grasping the edge of the crumpled paper. Shane nearly laughed, but the man looked like he might cry. “Holy shit,” he said.

A warm ball of paper was placed in his hand. He read it. And suddenly Shane felt like a kid again. 

-

“That was interesting,” Shane says, starting his sentence before he can even get the door open. The front of his white shirt is tea-stained and dried from the jumpiness of the first teen driver. He drops his keys onto the table by the mat. “But it was fun!”

“That’s good!” Ryan’s voice is hurried, rushed, but not particularly panicked. “You didn’t die -  _ c’mere. _ ”

“You’re right, I didn’t die,” Shane is unsure if the last part of the sentence applied to him. He enters the room. He smiles at his Ryan - hair tussled and face red - before his eyes drift to the ball of skin and sharp edges in Ryan’s hands. 

“Ryan,” Shane says quietly. He stops in his tracks, “What the fuck is that?”

Ryan’s smile begins to fade, holding the cat closer to his chest, “What… you don’t like her?”

“I… I  _ love _ her…” Shane crosses the room in two strides and lifts the small dark sphynx cat up over his head. Her ears brush against the ceiling. He laughs, “Wow. Look at you! A little lady.”

“Jesus, Shane,” Ryan says, nearly breathless. His fingers are splayed against his chest, leaning against the back of the couch, “I thought you were mad.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know how to react – oh, her little eyes, Ryan.” Shane brings her back to earth, holding her up to his chin while he looks at Ryan.

“She’s definitely got ‘em,” Ryan reached out and petted her, two fingers between her fragile ears.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Shane says, his voice quivering. Ryan just shakes his head, fond but confused at the waterworks. 

“Then don’t,” Ryan says. 

Shane kisses him quick, missing his lips by a mile and landing on his chin. Ryan just tugs him back down to correct it.

“Her name is Megan,” Ryan mutters, flustered. “If you want to change it, you should probably do so now. So she gets used to it.”

“Nah, she’s a Megan,” Shane smiles. “My second choice would be YoYo, but I think that would be off the table.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says with a grimace. “I’d have to divorce you.”

Shane shook his head, trying to remember a time when he didn't have Ryan. He was glad that he couldn't. 

“Megan it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this is so short, but i felt that the happy ending would have to be short after all that unnecessary angst i threw in. 
> 
> thank you so so much for reading! it means the world to me.


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